Ich Bin Ein Frankfurter: A Counterfactual History
by Krankovich
Summary: Set in an alternate universe where the German and Italian revolutions of 1848 play out differently, this story tells the tale of how the fall of a single man could have changed the fate of the world forever. N.ItalyxGermany, among others.
1. Chapter 1

In our world, there were a series of nationalist revolutions in Europe in 1848. Most were unsuccessful, and it would be decades before the nation-states the people desired then came into being. However, what if some of these revolutions had been just a bit more successful, and Italy and Germany found themselves united in 1848, rather than the 1860s and 1870s? And what if it was all portrayed with Hetalia characters?

That is the essence of this fic. By changing just one moment in history, the fate of the world is completely rewritten. What happens after the end of it all? Even I don't know that yet.

In any case, with that said, I hope you enjoy the story.

...

It was winter, in late 1847. In the Imperial palace of the Russian Empire, a man lay behind the curtains of a four-poster bed, his body wrecked by disease. By his bedside stood a single man, a scarfed, grey-haired giant. "Ivan..." The man in the bed could only murmur weakly.

Tugging away the side of the curtain, Ivan's violet eyes fixed themselves upon those of the bedridden figure. "Da, your highness?"

Tsar Nicholas coughed briefly before replying. "Ivan... You have served... me well. But... I fear my time is drawing to a close..."

Russia's blue eyes soon filled with silent tears as he spoke up, his childlike voice echoing through the room. "Nyet, my Tsar. Dont say such things." Though Russia was quite the bully to his neighbours and subjects, he held a child-like admiration for Nicholas, under whom he had grown so strong in recent decades.

The moustached emperor shook his head. "Regardless... of what happens to me, Ivan, for now you... you and the empire will be left to my advisors..." Nicholas used what little strength he could muster at that point to force himself into a half-sitting position, to get a better look at Ivan's face. "And... should I slip from the mortal coil, Alexander will take care o-" Suddenly, the Tsar entered a violent coughing fit.

Ivan quickly tended to the emperor with a handkerchief, but, as he pulled it away, a fresh bloodstain on the rag came into view. "Your highness..." Ivan's psyche slowly began to fall apart as the realisation of his boss's mortality truly dawned on him. His entire body began to shake like a leaf as he set down the handkerchief. Though he had lost many rulers over the years, this time, something seemed different – like life would never be the same for him and his country.

The emperor forced a weak smile. "Thank you." Slowly, he allowed himself to slink back down onto the bed, lying down beneath the covers. After a few moments, he spoke up again. "Ivan... could you stay... here, for a while?"

The nation merely nodded. "Da, your Highness." Ivan continued to stand dutifully by his emperor's side, keeping him company. As he did so, the nation began to muse to himself. _"I have this feeling that something terrible is about to happen. Why... Why did the boss have to get sick now?"_

...

Historical note: Russia, during the Revolutions of 1848, was considered the Gendarme of Europe, the go-to-guy (or country) for when the rest of Europe needed someone to keep things from changing too radically. But in this new history, Russia's tsar has fallen ill, leaving the country without effective guidance, unable to do anything particularly useful outside its own borders. What will the rest of Europe get up to with Russia no longer looming over their shoulders?


	2. Chapter 2

With Russia out of the picture, the Revolutions of 1848 are starting to get underway. Let's see what's going on...

...

CHAPTER TWO

...

Russia's fears soon came to pass. Less than a month later, in January of 1848, a young man with auburn hair, visibly exhausted from running, burst into the royal court of the King of the Two Sicilies.

"Your Highness!" The young man, not even bothering with the typical formalities such as bowing, made his way up to the king.

The king stared down at the man, annoyed at his outburst. "Romano! What is the meaning of this?" Ferdinand II locked eyes with the nation before him.

Romano answered quickly, the look of irritation on his face."The people in Sicily have thrown a revolution!"

"What!?"

Frowning, Romano replied. "It is true! Those bastards even restored the 1830 constitution..."

"The 1830 constitution?" Realising the seriousness of the situation, King Ferdinand II gestured at his territory's avatar. "Romano! Fetch me my generals. This is my kingdom, and the Sicilians must learn their place within it!" The nation nodded before making his way out of the court once more.

...

Soon, January turned to February, then March. Inspired by the initial success of the Sicilians, uprisings of a similar nature began to take place across the continent. Some were hit harder than others, though, as the aristocrat in blue seated at his piano knew all too well. Hearing the arrival of a guest at his door, Austria ceased his fingers' delicate dance across the keys. "General Radetzky."

The military officer entered the home, tipping his hat. "Herr Edelstein." He took a seat near where Austria was, waiting for the nation to face him.

"What is the latest from Italy?" Austria's voice had a most serious tone about it.

"It's not good. The rebellion is quickly conflagrating into all-out war. And not only that," the general continued, "the Italians have begun to rally around their national avatar, Herr Feliciano Vargas."

Austria was dumbstruck, though it was difficult to tell just from looking at his face. "How on Earth could the Italians have convinced Feliciano to play along in their little game?"

General Radetzky began to look over his messages and field reports. "It appears that they... bribed him with vast quantities of pasta."

Roderich facepalmed deeply at this revelation, though he quickly regained his composure. "In that case, Herr General, I do believe that it is time I took a personal stake in this whole affair. If the Italians succeed, everyone else in the empire may start to have ideas."

"But sir, with all due respect, you are not the strongest fighter in Europe. Having you on the battlefield could be a significant ris-"

"Italy has always been a weak nation. And even if things are difficult, Hungary and her regiments stand ready to aid the war effort, correct?"

Acknowledging the nation's wishes, the general gave a single nod."Very well then, Herr Edelstein. Be ready to leave by tomorrow morning. The front line awaits."

...

Additional notes: The Kingdom of the Two Sicilies covered the southern half of the Italian peninsula, along with the island of Sicily. The Sicilian attempt at independence was the first recolution in 1848, taking place on January 12, and it wasn't long before those in Lombardy-Venetia in northern Italy tried throwing off Austrian rule as well. And yes, I know none of the nations have seen one another face-to-face yet, instead just talking with their bosses and such. There'll be plenty of nation-to-nation interaction soon, don't worry.


	3. Chapter 3

The Italian peninsula is starting to go screwy, so while Roderich makes his way down to set things straight, let's see what's going down in Eastern Europe...

...

CHAPTER THREE

...

Meanwhile, with Russia's ruler incapacitated, two young men lead a platoon of rebel soldiers towards a Russian garrison. One of the two men, a blond with a somewhat feminine air about him, turned to the other. "So, like, Toris, you ready for this?"

Lithuania nodded in reply. "Yes, but... Feliks, won't Russia come back soon enough? What will we do then?"

Putting his hands on his hips, Poland shrugged nonchalantly. "Ivan's totally out of it. Like, there's no way he'd risk coming here with the Tsar all sick and stuff." After this short chat, the two led their soldiers in a charge. Through the puffs of smoke and the clang of steel meeting steel, the garrison was easily overrun. Feliks sighed as he looked down at his clothes. "Ohmagawd, I've totally got blood on my shirt! Toris, you..." But as he looked up at Lithuania's face, he noticed him staring off into the distance behind him. "Like, what's your problem, To-"

Before Poland could finish, Lithuania interjected. "Get down!" He used what strength he had to shove the other nation to the dirt.

Poland looked up angrily at his friend. "What did you do that fo-" As he spoke, though, the nation caught sight of something horrifying. Lithuania stood there, twitching, barely mobile. Blood dripped from his gut, where a knife now found itself.

Holding the knife in place was a platinum blonde beauty, donning both a maid's dress and a most maniacal smile. "Brother said he couldn't leave St. Petersburg..." She swiftly drew the knife from Lithuania's body as he slumped to the ground. "Brother would want me to take care of his friends for him..."

The woman slowly walked towards Poland, who had entered a state of shock after seeing Lithuania's fate at her hands. "L-like... Natalia..."

...

Additional notes: The Poles never revolted in 1848, but they did on several other occasions. In this alternate universe, I thought that, with Russia in a bit of disarray, having the Poles and other Eastern Europeans under the thumb of Russia try another revolution alongside the rest of the continent in 1848 would be quite likely. So, yeah. Also, don't worry too much about the darkness of this chapter - the next chapter will be more light-hearted, I assure you.


	4. Chapter 4

Yikes, this chapter is long. Then again, Gilbert's colossal ego isn't easily contained...

...

CHAPTER 4

...

Though places like Poland, Sicily and Lithuania sought a split, others sought the very opposite – national unification. One such nation now stood at the front of a makeshift parliament in Frankfurt as he prepared to address those gathered.

He waited for the men before him to quiet themselves, but it seemed his waiting would be in vain – though all in attendance sought unity for the country, it seemed to the blond-haired, blue-eyed speaker-to-be that their bickering would continue forever. Suddenly, the nation snapped at his representatives. "All of you, quieten down! This is a parliament, not a beer hall!

The roar of the quibbling politicians in attendance faded to below a whisper as the blond-haired, blue eyed man called out. Though he appeared young – no older than 18 to an untrained eye – this man commanded respect, and with good reason.

Ludwig cleared his throat. "Yesterday, we voted in favour of uniting Germany under the Prussian crown, and also to exclude Austria from the newly unified state. Today, Prussia and his king will be arriving so that we may make them the offer of the German crown in person."

As if on cue, the last of Germany's words were punctuated by the sudden opening of the Frankfurt Parliament's doors. In the doorway stood two figures – Gilbert Beilschmidt, the symbol of the kingdom of Prussia, alongside his king, Friedrich Wilhelm IV. "I do believe I heard my name being mentioned. Did anyone hear my name being mentioned?" Prussia and his king marched up to Ludwig, who was still on the podium.

"Yes, brother." Germany's words were clear and firm. "My people have spoken – they wish for nothing more than to see Germany unified. And," he continued, lifting a crown from a display case by his side, "they wish for you to lead this new nation – the German Reich – with your King Friedrich Wilhelm as Emperor."

Prussia broke out in laughter at this statement. "Who the hell do you think I am, Ludwig? I'm the great and mighty Prussia! What the hell makes you think that my awesomeness would deign to accept your mud-and-dirt gutter-crown, you middle-class good-for-nothi-"

"Gilbert," Friedrich interjected, cutting off the nation's rant, "I believe we should have a word."

Sighing, the 'great and mighty' Prussia moved off to the side of the parliament with his king. "What is it, Four?"

"One, I told you to stop calling me that. And two," he added, "I do not think we should be so hasty in rejecting this offer."

Prussia's eyes lit up with a strange sort of anger. "What do you mean by that, Four? You know as well as I do that Germany's unification, if it's going to happen at all, should be carried out under the blessing of the aristocracy, the nobility! Not some useless middle-class pig-dogs like Ludwig and his revolutionaries! The Junkers would throw a fit! Old Fritz would be rolling in his grave if he saw us accepting their crown..."

Friedrich Wilhelm shook his head lightly. "Normally, Gilbert, I would say that I couldn't agree more. However," he added, "there's more to it than that today."

"What do you mean by that?"

"Normally, we would reject this offer out of common sense. If we tried to take charge of all of Germany on a normal day, Russia and Austria would surely try to restore the status quo before long." The king looked up at the gathered parliamentarians before continuing, wondering what they were all thinking. "However, today is different. With the Tsar bedridden, the Russian empire can barely handle the rebellion in Poland alone, let alone act as the Gendarme of Europe. And with the situation in Italy and Hungary, Austria isn't exactly in the best of positions either."

"What are you saying, Four?"

"I am saying that, though it goes against much of what we stand for, having me crowned as the Emperor of Germany may be the best option. With Russia incapacitated and Austria weak, divided and preoccupied, together we can establish Prussian hegemony over the German nation. By the time these revolutions have ended and Austria recovers-"

Prussia, catching onto his king's train of thought, completed the sentiment. "-that piano-playing drip's influence in the German states will be totally neutralised. I, the great Prussia, will reign supreme!"

"Precisely. And as for the Junkers, I have a feeling that these nationalists are more than willing to compromise. After all, should we refuse their crown, they have no other options." Prussia nodded in agreement.

Having finished their discussion, the two quickly returned to the front of the parliament, where Ludwig and the other parliamentarians stood waiting. The soon-to-be unified nation addressed the two. "Have you made your decision?"

Red eyes met blue as the albino replied. "My brother, it is only right that the German people have recognised me as the greatest, most powerful kingdom in the land, the most capable of leading their new nation to glory. And it is for that reason that my king accepts your offer of the German crown."

As Prussia spoke those last few words, the entire parliament roared back into life as the deafening sound of cheers and celebrations drowned out Gilbert's last few words. Finally, Germany would be as one.

...

Additional notes: Prussia here is paraphrasing a quote from Friedrich Wilhelm IV in real-life, when, after the revolutions were over, he wrote to a friend in England about his experience of being offered the crown and rejecting it. He said that he felt deeply insulted at being offered "from the gutter" a crown that was "disgraced by the stink of revolution, baked of dirt and mud." Also, Prussia is the most fun character to write for in the history of ever. Just thought I'd put that out there.

Also, the "Junkers" are the land-owning aristocracy of Prussia, and the biggest political force in the kingdom at the time. Obviously, if the Prussian king had any intention of uniting Germany, he'd want to make sure that the Junkers' land rights were upheld, at the very least. Anything less, and the king would have something a lot worse than middle- and lower-class pro-democracy German revolutionaries on his hands...


	5. Chapter 5

Okay, Germany's united. That's all well and good, but what about northern Italy? What's happening there since Austria decided to show?

...

CHAPTER 5

...

As 1848 dragged on, so too did the wars and conflicts throughout Europe. In the northernmost reaches of Italy, an auburn-haired boy who looked no older than 15 stood side-by-side with a formation of much older soldiers, facing down a similar formation across the field led by the bespectacled aristocrat in blue. Italy felt his knees go weak as his eyes made out the shape of his imperial overlord standing alongside the enemy soldiers. However, something seemed strange. Why had Austria not attacked yet?

On the other side of the battlefield, Roderich paced. "Where is Hungary? We need her regiments on the battlefield if we're to-" He stopped himself short of completing his sentence when he caught sight of a lone messenger rushing towards the front lines.

The messenger quickly reached Roderich. "Herr Edelstein!" He had to pause for a few moments to catch his breath before continuing. "We've just received word from Hungary!" He held a letter up to Austria, which was quickly taken from his grip.

The aristocrat's eyes scanned the letters on the page, taking in every word. "So, that's how it is..." A single tear rolled silently down his face. Lowering his glasses before wiping his watery eyes, he resumed his stoic facade before addressing his troops. "Men! We begin the attack now!"

One of the senior officers among the formation raised his voice. "But sir! The Hungarian regiments have yet to arrive!"

"They will be arriving shortly," Austria lied, tightening his grip on the musket he held. "But if we are to have any hope of victory, we must begin the battle as soon as possible." The nation slid his glasses back up his nose before continuing. "Now, men... Forward!"

Back on the other side of the battlefield, Italy and his nation's troops saw the opposing formation slowly moving towards them. Italy gulped as he watched the situation progress, and his knees grew weak. He wasn't a fighter! But... Italy felt something strange welling up inside of him. _"What's this funny feeling? It's like..."_ Italy felt his nerves dissipate as he and his soldiers moved forward to meet the Austrians, getting within musket range. _"Is it because..."_ He saw as the bullets began to fly from both sides.

A soldier to his right fell to the ground, but just as quickly two others took his place on the battlefield. With their weapons empty, a call to fix bayonets went out. As the troops prepared to charge, a chorus of voices rang out across the battlefield. Voices crying, "For Italy!"

_"It's because they believe in me!"_ Steeling himself, the young nation fixed his bayonet like his comrades. _"Then that's it! This is the last time Austria kicks me around!"_ Feliciano broke into a full sprint, rushing forward alongside his troops in a bayonet charge. Locking eyes with his Austrian counterpart, rushing him with his weapon held forwards, he let out the closest thing to a war-cry he could think of on the spot. "PASSTAAAAAAAAA~!"

...

Additional notes: Once Austria started taking an interest in its Italian territories, both in our world and in this fic, the other Italian kingdoms of the north (especially Piedmont-Sardinia) began their military campaign against the Austrians. One of the key reasons that the Austrians won the First Italian War of Independence in our world was because of the Hungarian regiments. However, here, Hungary has withdrawn these regiments far sooner than in real life (both in the real world and here in this fic, Hungary, like northern Italy was rebelling against Austrian rule as well). With Hungary out of the picture in the Italian war, Italy actually stands a chance at victory.

Also, the war cry of "PASSTAAA~!" is much more epic if you think of it like the scene just before the title card in the first episode of the Hetalia anime - "Pastaaa!~", long and drawn out with a bit of an echo, followed immediately by the epic Hetalia title card music as Austria gets his ass kicked Italian-style off-screen. Just venting a few thoughts, there....


	6. Chapter 6

Well, that was kind of cool for Italy. Let's see how the German brothers have been doing.

...

CHAPTER 6

...

Less than a month after the events at the Frankfurt Parliament, the kings, princes, lords and national avatars of the German states stood and watched as Friedrich Wilhelm underwent his coronation as Emperor. The room stood in stunned silence as the ring of bejewelled metal touched the royal's head. A moment later, those present erupted into cheers. A chant of, "All hail, Emperor of the Germans!" could be heard through the noise and ceremonial music being played.

After a few minutes, when things were beginning to calm down, Prussia attempted to excuse himself from the ceremony. "I'd love to stay and chat, everyone, but I have a war with the Danes to attend to. Their idea of splitting Schleswig and Holstein is not awesome in the least, and this whole coronation deal has been a total distraction. No offence, Four."

However, as he turned to leave, a voice called out to him. "Not so fast, brother." As Prussia turned, he caught sight of Germany standing behind him, hand outreached.

"I knew unifying your nation was a bad idea, Ludwig. I've always been able to handle myself alone... You're just going to be getting in my way from now on, are'n-"

Germany cut him off. "No. I want to help you, Gilbert. With Friedrich Wilhelm crowned as emperor, my nation and your kingdom stand as one. Where Prussia goes, Germany will follow. All of Germany."

Before Prussia could reply, a young, golden-haired woman emerged to speak. "From now on, Prussia, we have to share our strength!" It was Saxony, one of Prussia's closest neighbours. "And I'm not going to take no for an answer!"

"I, Bremen, second that motion!" Another person, a young black-haired man this time, took his place beside Germany and Saxony.

"As does Oldenberg!"

"And Anhalt!"

"And Hamburg!"

One by one, the German states declared their allegiance to one another and to Prussia. Soon, the living symbols of over twenty German states stood side-by-side with Germany, looking to a now-stunned Prussia. "Gilbert. Schleswig and Holstein are our brothers. They and their citizens deserve better than an existence squirming under Denmark's thumb."

Prussia took a few moments to gather his thoughts, but soon enough, his face morphed from a purely-shocked expression to one of excitement. "Well, what are you waiting for, then? Denmark's not going to kick his own ass!" Grinning, Prussia turned back towards the door, leading his siblings. "_Maybe having Ludwig and the others around won't be so bad after all..."_

...

It was December now, and the winter snow fell softly upon Austria's mansion. While his brother Germany had come together, Austria felt his nation's empire being torn apart. Hungary had betrayed him. Italy had torn himself away from him. There was unrest in the Balkans, too. And, to top it off, many of his own citizens - the German-speaking Austrians themselves - were rising up against the monarchy and demanding unity with the new Prussian-led German empire. Nursing the bayonet wound in his arm, Austria sighed. "If only Russia was here to help..." A shiver went down Austria's spine immediately afterwards - it seemed the effects of the revolution were going to get worse before they got better.

"Are you alright, master Austria?" Austria looked to the side to find Bohemia standing there, alongside his sister Moravia. The two were children, no larger than Italy back when the Holy Roman Empire was still around. "You look unwell."

"I'm fine. It's just..." Austria sighed deeply. Why did Hungary have to abandon him? He had even entertained the idea of marrying that woman someday. But all hopes for that happily-ever-after seem to have vanished with the delivery of a single letter. "I just need time to think."

At that moment, however, an ear-splitting crack sounded out through the mansion. The two Czech nations in the room jumped with fright. "W-What's happening, master?" Austria recognised immediately what was happening - the same thing had occured to the Holy Roman Empire's house with the Treaty of Pressburg 42 years earlier. Without a second thought and ignoring the pain in his body, Austria picked the two up, placed them over his shoulders and made a mad dash for the front door. Just as the three made it past the threshold, the mansion began to collapse behind them.

As Austria looked back at the pile of rubble that was once his home, he fell to his knees. Moving in closely, the two Czech brothers could hear him begin to softly sob._ "My... my empire. It's all gone..."  
_

...

Additional notes: In our world, Prussia and Schleswig-Holstein stood alone against Denmark in the first Schleswig war back in 1848. But with Friedrich Wilhelm here now having united Germany, the German states see the Schleswig struggle as a common German cause – something similar happened during the real German unification, where nationalism and moves for complete German unity were whipped up by a war against France in 1870, leading to the completion of German unification under Wilhelm I.

Also, in case you haven't already figured it out, Saxony, Oldenberg, Anhalt, Hamburg and all those others are some of the many German states, principalities and kingdoms which existed prior to German unification. Since they managed well enough as independent entities within the German Confederation for a while, I thought they deserved their own characters here. Also, Bohemia and Moravia constitute the modern state of Czechia (otherwise known as the Czech Republic).

Another thing to note: the Treaty of Pressburg, signed in 1806, was essentially the final blow which collapsed the Holy Roman Empire for good.


	7. Chapter 7

Next chapter for you guys. Hope you like it.

...

CHAPTER 7

...

It was now mid-1850. Italy sat at a round table, along with his brothers, Romano and Vatican. After the defeat of Austria's forces and the liberation of Italian lands from the now-collapsing Austrian Empire, nationalist sentiment had led to all the Italian kingdoms uniting under the rule of Italy's boss, Charles Albert of Sardinia. All kingdoms except two - the Papal States and the Kingdom of the Two Sicilies. "So, what do you say, Romano, Pius?"

In unison, Italy's two brothers replied. "Italy, we're not going to unite with you."

"Veeee~! Why not, brothers?" My people want us to all be together..." Italy may have looked somewhat ditzy, but he knew what he was going on about.

Vatican raised a goblet of wine to his lips, taking a sip before responding. "The authority of God far surpasses the need for us to follow the whims of our subjects. Our flippant, violent, imperfect subjects..."

"My people aren't that bad, brot-"

Vatican cut him off. "They tried to kill my boss, Feliciano. If it weren't for Francis sending in his country's troops, there's no telling what might have happened to my lands..."

"And anyway, Feliciano, even if I wanted to unite with you - which I don't, by the way - my boss wouldn't allow it in a thousand years. Anyway, with Vatican here in the way, we don't even have a land border!"

"Not a problem, Romano! My boss told me to borrow some of Pius's land while there was all that strife before Francis turned up. Now we can be together!" It seemed that all those pasta-bribes were going to Italy's head - annexing half his brother's territory behind his back seemed like no big deal to him these days.

Vatican's eye began to twitch upon hearing Italy's response. "You... you annexed my territory? Why did you...?" His wine goblet was shaking violently in his hand as he looked at the ditzy and carefree - yet surprisingly strong - nation across from him. Did Italy even realise what he was doing?

Before Vatican could really begin his tirade, the door to the room opened. A messenger entered, approaching Romano and whispering something into his ear before leaving. "What was that about, brother?"

"...It seems that my king has been overthrown. The revolutionaries have taken over... They're also saying that they want to join up with your country, since they think the French hanging around in the Papal States are a threat to us-"

Vatican looked about ready to pop a vein. "The French are a threat? They're not the ones annexing territory left and right, unlike SOME people I know! You know what, brothers? Forget you two! I'm out of here!" With that, the indignant nation rose from his seat suddenly, knocking over his wine goblet, before storming out of the room in a huff.

Once the door slammed shut, both remaining Italian brothers slowly turned to face eachother. "...I suppose I don't have a choice then, brother. By the end of the year, our countries will be as one... Not that this is what I wanted, but..."

...

Meanwhile, in the fields of Denmark, Prussia and Germany stood side by side, sword and rifle raised. Denmark was on one knee, his battle-axe severely cracked. All around, dead soldiers from both sides lay face-down in the grass and mud. Prussia raised his voice. "Leif... For the last time - give us our brothers. Cede Schleswig and Holstein to us!" The red-eyed man's finger delicately caressed the rifle's trigger.

For a while, Denmark was silent. _"Where the hell is Ivan?! He promised me he'd help keep my country in one piece! That son of a..."_ He looked up at the German brothers. The barrel of Prussia's rifle gleamed brightly in the summer light, giving it an air of both beauty and extreme danger. "Gilbert... I..."

"Out with it, Leif," Prussia barked, "Are you going to give us our brothers, or am I going to have to waste a musket ball?" Hearing that, Denmark held his axe out, dropping the weapon onto the mud below. "Now, that wasn't so hard, was it?" Gilbert's face shifted into a forboding grin as he gestured to his brother. "Let's go, Ludwig."

"Jawohl, bruder." The two Germans passed by the defeated Dane, finding Schleswig and Holstein not too far away. As the two retrieved their siblings, Denmark, totally exhausted both mentally and physically from the battle, collapsed, his body laying flat against the earthen battlefield._  
_

...

Additional notes: Both in the real world and in here, revolutionaries briefly overthrew the Papacy in the revolutions. In the real world, the French worked to restore order - the new French leader, Louis-Napoleon Bonaparte (the original Napoleon's nephew), wanted to improve his popularity with his nation's Catholics. Of course, since the northern Italians no longer had to worry about Austria, they were able to seize some of the lands of the Papal States while things were disorganised - more specifically, the territories of Romagna, Umbria and Marche. Additionally, the Italian victory over Austria in this story also stirred up revolutionary sentiment in mainland southern Italy, hence why Ferdinand II of the Two Sicilies got overthrown and that messenger popped in at that point.

As for Denmark complaining about Russia not keeping promises, this is in reference to Russia's guarantee of Schleswig remaining under the Danish crown by the treaties of 1767 and 1773. In our world, Russia did intervene to an extent in the first Schleswig war, but here the Russians have been unable to do much due to the ongoing problems in Poland and the illness of the Tsar.

Denmark doesn't have a name in canon yet, so I decided to go with Leif. It's a good Nordic name, I think.

And "Jawohl" is German for an emphatic yes. In a military context, the closest translation would be "Yessir". Bruder, of course, translates to brother.


	8. Chapter 8

We haven't heard from Austria for a couple chapters, have we? And we haven't seen Russia since chapter 1, either... Let's see what's been going on there. Also, two updates in 24 hours? What is this madness? Anyway, hope you enjoy this next chapter.

...

CHAPTER 8

...

The war in the north had ended, and the Germans returned home victorious. Though the rain outside poured in buckets, the German states were warm and cozy inside, gathered around Germany's fireplace. "...And that's how you make a totally awesome eagle!" Prussia had taken to making shadow puppets with the light from fireplace, attempting to impress his younger brothers and sisters.

Germany and Bavaria entered the room now, hauling a large cask filled with beer. "Anyone thirsty?" But before the two could be swamped by their siblings, a loud knock came from the door. Germany turned, leaving Bavaria with the cask. "I'll get it, don't worry."

"I'll come with you, Ludwig." Prussia got up from the floor, leaving behind the other German kingdoms to join his brother. "Who'd be coming around here this time of night, anyway? And in this weather!"

This question was soon answered, though, as Germany opened the door. "...Roderich?" In the doorway stood Austria, his soaked blue cloak shielding Bohemia and Moravia from the pouring rain. "What are you doing here?"

"My empire's collapsed, Italy and Hungary have abandoned me... I have nothing left, Ludwig." The aristocrat's face held a deeply somber look as he spoke.

Prussia couldn't help but laugh at the misfortune of his old rival. "Oh, Roderich, how the mighty have fallen... And you couldn't even hold off the Italians? Pathetic!" Prussia was nearly in stitches by this point.

"That's enough, Gilbert," Germany curtly interjected. He turned his attention to Austria. "Please continue, Roderich."

"Ludwig, all I have left are my people. And they're demanding..." Austria looked as if he was burying his pride as he spoke, as if he was meant to be ashamed of what he was about to say. "They're demanding that I join you and Gilbert in this new 'German Empire' of yours. Would you..."

"You? Join us?!" Prussia broke out in laughter once more, revelling in the schadenfreude to be had. "Oh, you're just killing me today, Roderich. You really are!" Prussia was now leaning against the doorframe, holding his sides.

"Enough!" Germany raised his voice, silencing Prussia once more. "Roderich. You're as German as any one of us. I'll get in contact with my bosses in the morning, see what the parliament says about you joining the empire... But I'm sure there won't be any problems." Germany reached his hand out to Austria, grabbing the soaked man's hand in his own. "Please, come inside." Austria silently nodded, allowing Germany to pull him and the two Czechs inside. As he passed Prussia, however, the two exchanged a brief, icy glare.

It seemed that not even national unification was going to quell this sibling rivalry anytime soon.

...

It was now late in 1850, and General Winter was beginning his annual assault on Russia's lands. Inside the palace in St. Petersburg, however, the massive nation stood side-by-side with his siblings in the bedroom of the empire's tsar. Belarus tugged on the sleeve of her older brother's coat, trying to get his attention. "Brother... is Nicky going to be okay?"

Looking down with violet eyes, Russia quietly shushed his sister before responding, his voice barely passing the volume of a whisper. "We can only wait and see, Natalia." He turned his attention back to the deathly Tsar on the bed, currently being attended to by a doctor and priest.

Leaning over the bed, the doctor looked over Tsar Nicholas once more, looking more and more crestfallen with every second. He removed a few leeches that he had applied earlier from the man's body, placing them in a bedside container. As this was happening, the Russian Orthodox Church priest slowly chanted a prayer. The doctor arose from the bedside, turning to face Russia. His face sullen, he quietly shook his head. "I'm sorry, Braginski, sir, but... There is nothing more that can be done. His Highness is... no longer amongst us."

Russia was at a loss for words. He turned to his older sister, Ukraine, taking her in a near-suffocating hug. The woman cooed softly into her brother's ear as he sobbed into her shoulder. "It'll be alright, my brother..." She kissed Russia softly on his cheek, now flushed from the sudden overflow of sorrow. "It'll all be okay." Russia managed a simple nod before reburying his face. Acknowledging the situation, the doctor and priest quietly departed the room to allow Russia and his family to grieve in peace.

...

Additional notes: In the 19th Century, German-speaking Austrians considered themselves just as German as anyone from Saxony, Prussia or any other German-speaking territory. Despite this, though, there was - and still is - a distinct cultural gulf between northern and southern Germans.

'Schadenfreude' is a German word meaning 'happiness gained from the misfortune of others'. Due to its concise meaning, it's become a handy loanword present in French, English, Polish and several other languages.

Also, writing that death scene made me a sad panda. I think I'll have to write something more lighthearted next time to compensate.


	9. Chapter 9

New chapter. This might be my last one for a while, but I will be back, I assure you. Enjoy!

...

CHAPTER 9

...

Prussia looked decidedly bored as he played with the quill on the desk before him. "So, West," he asked, turning to Germany, "What's this about an ally I've been hearing about?"

"My bosses asked a couple of the neighbouring countries to see whether they'd be interested in allying with us." He looked to the doors of the room briefly - no one there, yet. "We have to have some sort of safeguard against the other European powers, now that the revolutions are over. And why do you keep on calling me 'West' these days, anyway?"

"Well," Prussia replied, "I'm always hanging out with Four over in Berlin, while you're always busy with that stupid parliament of yours in Frankfurt." Prussia pulled a map of the newly-united Germany from his pocket, with all the cities and subnational divisions marked."And, in case you haven't noticed, that means you're way west of me. Hence, West."

"In that case," Austria asked, "Are you going to start calling me 'South', then?"

Prussia put his hand to his chin, entering a moment of deep thought. "Nah... I think 'crybaby' works better." The white-haired man ignored the aristocrat's irritated reaction, instead turning to Germany. "And I still can't believe your parliament decided to let him and the Czechs in, West!"

The trio sat quietly for a few minutes, not sure how to pass the time. After a while, Austria decided to break the silence. "So, Ludwig, who's this new country you're planning on allying with?"

"Well," Germany replied, filtering through his papers on the desk, "He's supposed to be the direct successor to the Roman Empire. I've never met him, personally, but I've heard things. Strange, strange things..."

Peering down his glasses in disbelief, Austria replied. "The successor to the Roman Empire...? You don't possibly mean-"

At that moment, the doors to the room burst open, revealing three figures. One was a man in robes fit for royalty, with an extremely impressive beard and moustache. The other two, brown-haired twins - looking no older than seventeen, Germany guessed - followed closely behind the royal figure. "Vee~! Vittorio, are these our new friends?" Italy looked across to the three national representatives behind the table. He had never seen the first two before, but the third sent a shiver down his spine. "Why- why is Austria here? He's not going to take me away again, is he? His cooking is terrible! I don't wanna go back to him!"

"Oh, quieten down, you idiot." Romano delivered a punsh to Italy's head, knocking a bit of sense into him. "I'm sure there's a reasonable explanation..."

King Vittorio Emanuele looked down at his country's two representatives, sighing at their behavior. "Austria is part of Germany now, Feliciano." The royal put his hand on the nation's shoulder to reassure him. "He's not going to try and seize you any more from now on."

Italy breathed a sigh of relief upon hearing this. "Veee~! So we're all friends now? Yahoo!"

Wanting things to get back on track, Germany decided to put out a few questions."So, Feliciano..." Germany asked, his voice stoic and serious, "What do you think makes your country a good ally for us in Germany?"

"Well..." Italy hung his head and pondered for a few moments. "We've got really good artists! And cooks, too!" Out of nowhere, it seemed, Italy materialised a few bowls of hot pasta, handing them out to the three Germans. "Try it!"

Gilbert looked down at the pasta for a few seconds before taking a piece in his mouth. Immediately, his red eyes glazed over as he became lost in the flavour. He leaned over to Germany soon after, quietly murmuring into his ear. "This guy is _awesome_. I'm sold, West."

Germany, however, wasn't quite as convinced. "Yes, we are aware of your country's great reputation in the fields of culinary expertise and artistry. However," he continued, "what we need is military and diplomatic strength. Do you feel your country could defend our nation in a time of need?"

"Well," Italy replied, looking as ditzy as ever, "I managed to fight Austria pretty well recently, and I've got some really good generals to help me stay organised, too. Like Garibaldi!"

"He's right, you know," Austria told Germany quietly, subtly gesturing to the bandage still wrapped around his arm.

A small smile cracked through Germany's stoic facade. _"Now that's more like it,"_ he thought.

...

Meanwhile, in St. Petersburg, a man with dark, receding hair sat upon the Russian throne, looking down at the nation kneeling loyally at his feet. "Ivan. You understand what you must do, yes?"

Russia looked up, his eyes meeting the new tsar's. "Da, your highness." Russia let out a silent sigh after his reply. Alexander was so... different to his predecessor. When Nicholas was ill, Ivan wondered what kind of leader Alexander would end up being. And, even though he had yet to fully figure out his boss, he already knew the difference between him and Nicholas would be as stark a contrast as that between night and day.

Alexander II nodded. "Good. We're going to need a decent treaty with the Germans and Italians if we're to have any hope of having a free hand to deal with the Ottomans." The emperor gave a hand gesture, signalling for Russia to rise once more to his feet. "You'll be leaving for Berlin in the morning. Do not fail me, Ivan."

...

Additional notes: Garibaldi was an Italian general. In the real world, he participated in both the first and second wars of Italian independence, but only became really notable after the second (seeing as the first was a complete failure). Expect him to turn up in later chapters.

Also, in our world, Alexander II had a nickname - Alexander the Liberator. As far as Russian autocrats go, he was probably the closest thing the country had to a liberal leader throughout the entirety of the 19th century, having emancipated the serfs in the wake of the Crimean War. He also came close to granting the Russians a constitution before he was assassinated in 1881. Unlike some other tsars, Alexander II also had a soft spot for the Prussians.

And Russia and the Ottoman Empire have been at each-others throats for centuries - the biggest point of contention has always been over that transcontinental city on the Turkish Straits - Istanbul, or Constantinople as it was once known. In this story, the idea of Russia seeking the aid of the now-liberal and united Germany and Italy to help in getting a leg up on the Turks doesn't seem too far-fetched, given the circumstances.


	10. Chapter 10

Woo! The chapters have reached into the double-digits! *Ahem* Anyway, next chapter. Hope you like this one - it has France in it, after all.

...

CHAPTER 10

...

It was early in 1852. Germany and Italy stood alongside one another behind a podium in Berlin. Hundreds of observers looked on as the two nations brought their quills to bear on the paper before them. With the alliance sealed, the two turned to one another, shaking hands. Germany cracked a rare smile as he did so. "I'm looking forward to working with you in the future, Feliciano."

Overjoyed by Germany's approving words, Italy quickly segued the handshake into a hug, much to the blond nation's embarassment. "Yahoo! I can't wait either!" He delivered a polite kiss to Germany's cheek as he spoke, not noticing his ally's cheeks turning redder by the second.

"Feliciano..." Germany growled, somewhat irritated.

Italy pulled back, loosening his grip on the other nation slightly. "Yes, Ludwig?"

"...Please get off me." The blush on his face had now faded, replaced with his standard stoic-yet-irritated look.

Somewhat disappointedly, Italy withdrew from his embrace. However, as he was about to apologise, the doors to the hall they were in violently flew open. A single figure emerged from the entrance, far taller than anyone else in attendance. As he approached the podium, everyone moved out of his way, not willing to impede the movement of this violet-eyed scarfed giant. Upon reaching the front row, the man looked up at the two above him. "You have room for one more, da?"

"You wish to ally with us as well, Ivan?" Though he didn't show it for the most part, Germany was stunned. A few years ago, he had feared Russia would be the one crushing his revolution to unite Germany, the one fighting against him in Denmark. Yet here he was now, trying to align himself with the nation-states whose very existence threw the entire balance of power on the European continent into chaos. "We will see."

...

Meanwhile, many miles to the west, two Frenchmen stood on a balcony, overlooking Paris. One, a blond man dressed in bright hues of blue and red, produced a rose from his coat. "Ah, democracy. So brilliant, yet its life in this nation is like that of a mayfly... C'est la vie." A somber expression upon his face, he tossed the rose over the balcony and onto the cobblestone pathways below, a floral tribute to the death of his nation's democracy.

"Do not be so hasty, Francis," came the reply from the brown-haired Frenchman beside him. "While it is true that, since I launched the coup, all the nation's power lies in my hands, I cannot rule this nation as Emperor without a mandate from the people." The dark-suited brunet looked Francis in the eye, his look and posture self-assured. "And a popular mandate I shall get."

"Then, monsieur Bonaparte, French democracy shall commit suicide?" A look of sadness entered France's eyes. He had fought alongside the revolutionaries to re-establish a French Republic, and now here his boss was, dismantling that dream before his eyes - and in the most ironic of fashions, too. "How... tragic."

Louis-Napoleon Bonaparte put his hand on France's shoulder, in an attempt at reassurance. "Do not be so down, Francis. Our people merely seek a return to the glory days of the Empire... And they have not forgotten my uncle. I'm sure you have yet to forget him, either..."

It was true. While Napoleon Bonaparte, the uncle of the man now standing alongside him, was a dictator in every sense of the word, he led his nation to glory time and time again. Under his leadership, he had personally crushed Prussia under his heel, razed Russia's cities to the ground, taken Italy for himself... Never before had he had the opportunity to sieze so many nations by their vital regions. As much as France hated to admit it, he too was nostalgic for those days long past. Producing yet another rose from his cloak, he presented the blossom to the man beside him. "Vive le Empereur, monsieur Bonaparte."

...

Additional notes: The 'balance of power' is the delicate system of alliances, country sizes and military and economic capabilities of the nations of the European continent designed to maintain a state of competition between states without allowing any single state or bloc to become so powerful as to allow them to impose their will upon all the others. The balance of power which existed at the time of the 1848 revolutions was established in 1815, and was designed to prevent an encore performance of the Napoleonic Wars. The sudden event of two powerful nation-states forming, then forging a three-way alliance with one of Europe's largest, most powerful extant empires of the time, would of course throw a major wrench in the works.

As for France, we all know that he - being the perverted, lovable freak he is - would always be nostalgic for the days of the Empire; seizing the vital regions of so many nations, one after the other, must have been Heaven for him. And it's also true that, in our world, the French leader Louis-Napoleon Bonaparte (nephew of the somewhat-more-famous Napoleon Bonaparte) launched a coup to seize all power in France for himself late in 1851. He then launched a referendum the following year - giving him the popular mandate he needed to maintain his power and crown himself the Emperor of France. Very little has changed here in this universe.

Also, some quick translations: 'C'est la vie' translates as 'such is life', and 'Vive le Empereur' translates as 'Long live the Emperor'. Just so you know.


	11. Chapter 11

Next chapter for you guys. It's a bit short, but I hope you guys enjoy it anyway.

...

CHAPTER 11

...

It was now late in 1854. Two years ago, Italy had formed the Triple Alliance with Germany and their newfound friend, Russia. With a strange, long package in his arms, he was now at the doorstep of of Montenegro's house, a tiny place just on the edge of the Turkish Empire. Germany had told him that the Ottoman Empire was their enemy - and that by getting his colonies to rebel against him, they could become new friends and allies who could help keep them all safe.

"Hello!" Italy knocked loudly at the Montenegrin's door. "Are you in there?"

A tiny feminine figure, on the verge of dying from fright, emerged from the doorway. "Oh... Italy... You shouldn't be here..." Though she was Italy's next door neighbour, the two rarely spoke - after all, Montenegro was little more than a colony to Turkey.

"Ludwig told me to give you this..." His eyes becoming squinted and shifty, their shape resembling equals signs, Italy handed over the package he was carrying. "But keep it a secret! Or, at least, that's what Ludwig and Ivan told me to say..." It seemed almost as if Italy didn't even know what he had just handed over.

Taking the package quickly, Montenegro hurriedly began to shoo Italy away. "Really, Italy! You should be going now... Sadiq could turn up any moment!"

Italy held up his hand to his mouth, leaning in and lowering his voice to a whisper. "Don't worry... I snuck in through Dalmatia. There's no way he'd have seen me!" Italy then took a step back, beginning to turn away from Montenegro. "But... It is pasta night with Ludwig tonight. I don't want to be late! See you! I'll be back again sometime!"

As Italy began to leave, Montenegro closed her door, carefully unwrapping Italy's package. "This is..." Her eyes gleamed at the sight of the contents. It was one of Prussia's new rifles, or 'Needle Guns', as the albino preferred to call them. Quickly, she hid the weapon - she didn't want Turkey finding out she had something like this on her...

...

Italy wasn't 100% correct, though - there were some who were standing up and taking notice of what he and his new allies were getting up to. One such individual, a bushy-browed gent garbed in green, sat across from a stately woman in a fine dress who looked to be in her mid-30s - the two were discussing the issue over hot tea. "So, Sir Arthur... You say that you've observed suspicious naval activity by the Italians recently..."

England took a sip from his cup before responding. "Yes, your Highness. I was on exercises with the Royal Navy when we saw Italy's ships pass. Their activity has been far higher than normal in the last couple of years."

"Hmm..." Queen Victoria gently placed her own teacup down as she pondered. "Perhaps it may be best for us to seek the assistance of the French. I shall send a personal letter to Emperor Na-"

England slammed his cup forcefully back onto the table, as if by reflex. A single thought crossed his mind at that moment: _"There is no bloody way I'm fucking getting that wanker France's help!"_ It was only after a few seconds had passed that he realised what he had just done.

Victoria raised an eyebrow, her face stern. "Is something the matter, Sir Arthur...?"

"Nothing... your Highness," he lied, clearing his throat awkwardly. "Perhaps you should write to Napoleon... See what he has to say about this. However," he added, "I would rather that the French not become... too involved, if at all possible."

...

Additional notes: In this universe, Italy has picked up a few of Austria's territories after the collapse of the Austrian Empire - one of these territories was Dalmatia, which forms the coast of modern-day Croatia. This means that this version of Italy has a land-border with the Ottoman/Turkish territory of Montenegro. With this in mind, Russia and Germany have, as part of their new scheme to weaken the Turkish Empire, decided to exploit this fact by having Italy supply Montenegro's population with weapons from Germany, so that the Montenegrins could effectively stage a revolt later on. Of course, the Germany was also supplying the Russians, allowing old Ivan to sneak some support to the Wallachians. I Hetaliafied only Italy's actions, though, since I'd assume reading though essentially the same thing twice would be kind of redundant.

Also, next chapter will feature a full-scale war. Just so you know. It'll roughly correspond to the real-world Crimean War, but at the same time, be totally different. Hope that doesn't spoil too much...


	12. Chapter 12

The Balkan peninsula... If you want to start a war in Europe, look no further. This chapter is a little less realistic and more Hetalia-esque than my other chapters, but I'm sure it'll still work - this is Hetalia, after all. I'd also like to apologise for the late update - I've been rather busy this last week or two, you see. Anyway, new chapter. Read and review!... or not.

Also, the American Civil War's coming up, either next chapter or the one after that. I can tell you now, though, it's going to look quite a bit different to the real war, though. The Alaska purchase'll probably be in the same chapter. (And yes, Alaska has a nation-tan in this story.)

...

CHAPTER 12

...

It was now early in 1857. The snow was beginning to melt around Europe as Spring approaches. However, here in the Balkans, the trees and flowers weren't the only things springing to life today.

"Alright, Sadiq. I've had enough of your empire and your damn garrisons on my soil!" A young man with dark, slicked-back hair stood on the moist spring soil, facing down a masked figure standing amongst a number of soldiers.

Turkey let out a snide laugh as he reached for his scimitar. "You think you can just walk out of my empire? Just like that?" He paused for a moment, waiting for a reply.

The young man's voice took on a bitter tone. "Da-te-n pula mea, Sadiq."

This struck a nerve with the Ottoman, it seemed, as he rapidly drew his weapon, charging the man the moment he finished the sentence.

Wallachia winced, bracing himself for the blow. However, instead of the expected dull thud of steel on bone, the sharp clang of steel on steel rang out instead. "Looks like you could help there, Mihai." There, blocking the Ottoman Empire's sword, was Serbia.

"Boris? What the hell are you doing here?" Before Wallachia could get a reply, though, a bullet came seemingly out of nowhere, striking Turkey's sword and knocking it out of his hand.

Montenegro had just entered the fray. "Long time no see, Sadiq!" She drew back the bolt on the rifle as she spoke, slipping in a second round. "I've been talking with my boss, Prince Danilo... He says I'm independent now. So..." Montenegro continued, taking aim, "Get your soldiers the hell off my land too, you good-for-nothing tyrant!" The young woman moved forward, taking her place alongside Serbia, her rifle trained on the Ottoman Empire all the while.

The Ottoman Empire hung his head, and a sound not unlike faint sobbing began to sound out. As it grew louder, though, it was clear this was not crying – rather, it was the beginning of a maniacal cackle. "Do you three honestly think you can take me? Me? The empire of the Ottoman Turks?" He turned his attention to his soldiers, behind him. "Men!" They stood at attention, muskets in hand, ready to follow any order. "Ready! Aim! An-"

"Why are you in such a hurry, Sadiq?" Out of nowhere, Russia had appeared on the battlefield. He approached the three rebellious nations, wrapping his arms protectively around them as he continued to talk. "Why don't you just give my friends what they want? They aren't asking for much..." A soft, yet utterly chilling smile graced Russia's face as he spoke. "Or would you like to _become one with Russia_ instead?"

...

"Ludwig!!" A teary, distressed Italy ran full-speed into Germany's office. "I-I-I was g-g..."

The blond looked up from his paperwork strewn across the desk, looking up at the nation before him through a pair of reading glasses. "Feliciano." Germany's voice was stern, yet reassuring. "Calm yourself down, think about what you're going to say, then tell me what's wrong." As Germany said this, his face held a sympathetic, concerned look rather than the usual stoic facade chiseled into his cheeks.

The auburn-haired nation wiped his eyes and took a few deep breaths. "Francis said he'd invade my vital regions!"

"...What?" Germany removed his reading glasses, putting them down on the desk, somewhat shocked at the revelation. "Why?"

"W-Well, I was helping Ivan out in the Balkans... And when I was fighting with Montenegro, Francis told me to stop... And he said... he said if I didn't..." Italy couldn't continue, breaking down into tears at the memory.

"Feliciano. Calm down." Reaching over his desk, Germany put his hand on Italy's shoulder to reassure him. "Francis won't be getting anywhere near your vital regions."

Calming down slightly, Italy managed to mutter something in-between sobs. "Why's that?"

"Because," he replied, "We promised each-other we'd always stand up for one another, right? In fact," he continued, moving a few papers on his desk, "I'll send a telegram to Francis right now. I'll let him know that if he tries to do anything to you, I'm not going to back down..."

...

"So, the Germans stand ready to defend us?" A balding man with an impressive beard sat across from Italy, an officer's saber at his side.

"Veeee~... Yes, signor Garibaldi! Germany says we don't have anything to fear - he even told France to stay away from me!"

Giuseppe Garibaldi stroked his chin, deep in thought. "Good. Hopefully the French will back down, now... In that case, we should press on with our efforts in Montenegro. Perhaps we could assist the Montenegrins in striking at the Turks in Albania..."

Italy was starting to lose focus, his eyes drifting around the room as Garibaldi continued to outline his military plans. After a while, he interrupted. "Signor Garibaldi... Can we have pasta?"

"Hmm... That's a good idea, actually." Italy's eyes lit up at this. "We could invite the Montenegrin, Russian and German representatives over, perhaps hold a banquet, and use this to announce our recognition of Montenegro as its own kingdom!" The general had missed Italy's point, it seemed, but the young nation didn't mind. "And with Germany backing us up, this will surely be a mighty diplomatic blow against the Ottomans..."

...

A young woman in the garb of a peasant or farmer stood at the coast of the Black Sea. On the horizon, a few dots began to emerge. These dots slowly grew larger, both in size and number, revealing themselves as a massive naval floatilla. On the masts of the fleet's two flagships, she spotted the colours of the French and British Empires. "This... I have to tell dear Ivan about this!" Dropping her pitchfork, Ukraine bolted inland, hoping to find a way to get in contact with Russia.

Meanwhile, aboard the ships, a heated argument was flying back-and-forth betweeen the two flagships. England and France stood at the railings, arguing about their plan, taking every opportunity to hurl abuse in the process. Even as comrades on the verge of war, the two nations seemed like mortal enemies. "Well, Francis, why the bloody hell are we here anyway? You remember what Ludwig told you about trying an invasion!"

"Ah, Angleterre, this is no invasion... it is but a naval exercise, to let them know what we can do. A threat to send them running!"

"It'll send them running, all right..." England folded his arms and huffed, making no effort to hide his frustration. "Running straight across the Rhine and Alps!"

France shrugged this off, oddly confident. "Tais-toi, Angleterre. You will see."

...

"Dummkopf!" Prussia's hand struck Germany's face, leaving a distinct red handprint on his cheek. "What were you thinking, West, getting yourself mixed up in this?"

Germany gingerly stroked his cheek, his voice somewhat sheepish. "I am just doing what I can to protect my allies..."

"Protecting your allies? You're going to spark a pan-European war at this rate!" Prussia's voice was indignant, his eyes seemingly about to stare a hole through Germany's face. "War is fucking awesome, I have no qualms with saying that. But that's only so when I'm winning! And no-one's going to win a war like this! It'll be losers all round!"

"It was your idea to assist the Italians and Russians with supplying those armaments to the Balkans in the first place, Gilbert. They were your rifles, in fact..."

"I only did that because I wanted to beat up on old Sadiq! A free-for-all like what's starting now isn't going to be awesome for anyone - especially not me!" Prussia may have been a war-mongering blowhard, but he did have a brain, it seemed. "Fuck this, I'm going to go find old Four. Let's see if he can't talk some sense into the English and French..."

Germany stood there, stunned and unmoving as Prussia left, slamming the door behind him. Since when was Prussia so... rational?

...

All the nations now found themselves seated around a mid-sized table. Russia, North and South Italy, Prussia, Austria and Germany found themselves sitting directly across from their enemies - the Ottoman Empire, France and Britain. Hungary, Serbia, Montenegro, Albania, Moldavia and Wallachia had turned up as well. And, despite all coming in the name of peace, the delegates were far from peaceful. Their arguing and bickering continued ad nauseum, covering all manner of subjects - some only tangentally related to the war they were working to stop.

...

"Hey, Elizabeta!" Prussia gave the female nation a somewhat-seductive look across the conference table. "I'll try and get the Danube internationalised for you. What do you say to that?"

The Maygar looked up at the Prussian. "Really?" Hungry eyed him with a degree of suspicion.

"Yeah," he replied, sporting a cocky grin, "but only if you go out with me!" This remark was promptly met with a heavy iron frying pan to the face. "OW! What the hell was that for?"

A thick Russian voice interrupted the conversation. "Danube gets internationalised only if Serbia gets Banat region. Is fair, da?" Prussia grumbled. He didn't want to piss off Hungary any more by forcing her into a territorial concession to Serbia, but annoying his and Germany's biggest ally was most assuredly an even worse idea. Not like it mattered - he'd get her in the end anyway - he was awesome like that, he reasoned.

...

"Hey, Mihai." Moldavia nudged his brother Wallachia, who was starting to drift off. "I have an idea."

Wallachia looked up, sighing. "What is it, Dragoş?"

"We band together." The Moldavian was smiling at this idea. "We unite. We become Romania!"

Wallachia didn't look too sure. "You think Sadiq would let us do that?" Independence was one thing, but unification into something stronger probably wouldn't go down too well, he figured.

"We have Russia and Germany on our side now. He won't be able to say no!"

...

"And that, mon ami, is why we should share administration of the Holy Places in Palestine." France was just rounding off a long-winded explanation to Russia.

The giant nation quietly pondered the Frenchman's proposal. "Da, that makes sense. But," he added, "what of the Christian populations in Eastern Rumelia, Bulgaria and Bosnia? They need protection." Russia's voice had a strange quality emerge in it as he spoke that last part of the sentence.

France didn't seem to notice, though, instead just nodding in agreement. "True. Perhaps Angleterre and Italie should also come with. This concerns them too."

...

"Montenegro, Serbia... The Triple Alliance has managed to get the Ottoman Empire to recognise you." Speaking for his allies, Germany addressed the two Balkan countries. Before they could become too enthused, however, Germany spoke again, his voice subdued. "We can't allow you to marry each-other, though. Just a minor concession we had to make to the Ottomans."

"What?" Montenegro was shocked.

Serbia shook his head, slightly embarrassed. "What makes you think I like her, anyway?"

Montenegro pouted. "Are you saing I'm not good enough for you, Boris?"

"I didn't mean it like that!" Serbia was starting to get flustered at that point. "It's just-"

"Just what, huh?" She stared him down, hands on hips. "Oh, I get it. You'd rather just hang out with Russia, is that it?"

Germany sighed. This was going to be a long day.

...

Additional notes: Wallachia is part of Romania, and yeah, that's a rather nasty swear he pulled on Sadiq. I won't say what it was, though, but I wouldn't recommend repeating it amongst polite company.

Another fun fact - Russia was obsessed with claiming the Dardanelles for itself throughout the 19th Century, both here and in the real world - both for strategic (access to the Mediterranean during wartime) and symbolic (legitimising Russian claims to being the so-called "Third Rome") purposes.

The naval exercises with France and England are in preparation for a possible invasion of the Crimean peninsula, part of modern-day Ukraine. Of course, Crimea back then was Russian, but the rest of Ukraine would probably be close enough for a few eyebrows to be raised and for Ukraine/Katyusha here to notice.

And yes, I Anglicised Ukraine's signature "Russia-chan" into "dear Ivan/Russia"... I apologise if that disappointed anyone, but I just don't feel right making Slavic characters use Japanese expressions for no reason whatsoever. (Then again, speaking English isn't much better...)

"Running across the Rhine and Alps" refers to the fact that, in European geography, the Alps roughly define the Franco-Italian border, while the Rhine roughly approximates the Franco-German border - England's suggesting that France's foolhardiness is going to earn him an invasion from the east by the Triple Alliance countries.

Quick French lesson: "Angleterre" translates to "England", and "Tais-toi" translates roughly to "Shut up".

In our world, Garibaldi was responsible for uniting Italy in the 1860s. Here, he's a bit too late to do that, but he'll still have a few opportunities to prove that not every Italian keeps a white flag in their pocket (as adorable as that sounds).

And I hope no-one finds my portrayal of Prussia here too out of character. However, I feel every coin has two sides - even batshit-insane ones like Prussia.


	13. Chapter 13

One war ends, another begins. The 19th Century was a very... dangerous time, to say the least.

...

CHAPTER 13

...

One by one, the nations rose from their seats and walked forward, putting pen to paper on the newly-negotiated treaty. The German delegation had signed first, followed by the Russians and Italians. Hungary and the Balkans were now taking their turn. Having taken their seats with Germany, Austria turned to Prussia. "I have no idea how you did this, but somehow.... somehow you've managed to actually _avert_ a war..." Austria looked down his freshly-polished spectacles, his eyes filled with a measure of bewilderment. "You've changed, Prussia."

Prussia smugly shrugged, shaking his head. "Not really. I've just delayed everything - set everything up for a more proper showdown later on, when us Germans are ready to take on the Brits and French for real!" He looked over quickly towards Britain and France, who were in the middle of another shouting match - he was beginning to question why he was so worried about fighting these two in the first place. "Of course, this was all my new Prime Minister's idea."

Germany turned his head, cutting into the conversation. "Do you mean Otto von Bismarck, Gilbert?" He had heard things of this up-and-comer in the Prussian political scene; rumours, mostly. However, one thing he knew for certain was that the man was something of a schemer. "I heard he was thinking of running for German Chancellor in the next election."

Prussia nodded with pride at the mention of the minister's name. "Yep, ol' Otto. He's almost as awesome as Fritz..." Prussia sighed nostalgically, remembering his history under Friedrich II before snapping back to reality. "You could learn a lot from him, Ludwig," Prussia chided.

...

It was now 1858. The threat of a European war had subsided, and now the nations were beginning to return to normality. However, in Russia, a massive change was about to take place. "So, the serfs were ineffective?" Alexander leaned forward in interest, listening closely to the voice of his nation.

Russia looked sullen as he delivered news of what had happened during the brief war in the Balkans. "Da, your Highness. If not for our numbers and allies, we would have been crushed..."

"This will not do, Ivan." The ruler scratched his chin in deep thought. "Perhaps it is time the serfs are liberated. They will serve our empire far better as free citizens and subjects than as slaves."

Smiling softly, Russia nodded. "Da... Perhaps this will be best." His thoughts began to wander to his beloved sister, Ukraine. As the agricultural heart of his empire, her lands were home to a great deal of the empire's serfs... How was she going to react to this?

...

Over the next two years, as Russia worked towards ending the serfdom prevalent within his empire, a somewhat similar debate over the rights of slaves and of states was brewing across the ocean. It was February, 1861, and the President-elect of the United States was at his Illinois home, organising his move to the White House. Suddenly, a knock came at the door. "Who in the world could that be at this hour...?" As he opened the door, his question was answered.

"Congratulations on your victory in the polls, Mr Lincoln." There in the doorway stood a smiling, energetic blond man, donning a brown jacket and spectacles. "I thought I'd come by and help you pack! Moving is a hard job, after all."

"Ah, Mr Jones. Please, come inside." As he reached out to close the door behind his guest, he continued. "I have been meaning to speak with you, in fact."

America raised an eyebrow. "What about?" He had a feeling what he was on about, though. Over the last few months, as the states had begun to secede one by one, his body had taken a heavy toll. He did his best not to show it, though.

"Mr Jones, you know as well as I that the situation in the South is reaching a critical point." As Lincoln spoke, America, while listening, was singlehandedly moving and packing the President-elect's heavy wooden furniture, handling the items like feathers. "We must do everything possible to reunite the country under peaceful terms-"

It was at that point that America froze. His grip slackened on the heavy wooden cabinet he had been carrying, the item slamming into his foot. America didn't feel this, though, as it was overridden by the massive pain surging through his chest. He clutched his hands to his heart, keeling over as he did so. "Abe..."

"Mr Jones! Alfred!" Abraham Lincoln rushed to the nation's side, watching helplessly as America slipped into unconsciousness.

...

"Ugh... my chest..." America blinked a few times as he woke up in a daze. It was night by now, and it seemed he was lying down in a bed. By the flickering candlelight, he could make out two figures before him. One was Abe, but the other was a complete stranger, a boy who looked no older than 11. Dressed in grey, he had a very rough-cut appearance to him, with tousled blond hair and green eyes. "Who... Who are you?"

"Your brother, or so the boy claims." It was Lincoln who spoke. As he did so, it became clear to America that his soon-to-be boss was physically restraining the boy in grey, who was squirming violently in his grip. "He... The boy appeared out of nowhere shortly after you fell ill."

As he writhed in Abraham's grip, the child let out a shout. "Name's Johnathan! Johnathan R. Jones! The Confederate States of America!" The boy spoke with a youthful Deep South accent. "But y'all can call me Johnny Reb," he added with a smirk, finally breaking free of the President-elect's hold.

"Wait!" America tried to force himself to get out of bed, but as he did so, the pains in his chest returned, crippling his movement and forcing him into a heap on the floor.

Abraham rushed to America's side, helping him up. "Mr Jones!"

America reached out to the boy as he was helped up, his arm shaking as he held it out, watching his new brother running out the door. "Get... back here..." He tried to move forward and chase down the new country, but the combination of his sickness and Lincoln's grasp made pursuit impossible.

America had begun his journey down the path to civil war, and now there was no turning back.

...

Additional notes: For those wanting an explanation for Prussia's recent lack of insanity, I believe Bismarck offers a reasonable explanation. Though, once he makes the jump to German national politics, expect Prussia to revert to his crazy old ways.

In regards to Russia, the poor performance of the Russian serfs (a slave-like feudal underclass of unfree peasants) in the real-life Crimean War provided a lot of the impetus for their emancipation. Same thing's happened here with this world's Balkan War, though slightly ahead of schedule.

And how could I NOT name the CSA's nation-tan after Johnny Rebel?


	14. Chapter 14

Much like a ripple in a pond, even events on the edge of the pool are eventually twisted and changed by that first little disruption. Like the Trent Affair, for instance...

...

CHAPTER 14

...

It had been several months since the beginnings of the Civil War. Fort Sumter lay in Confederate hands, ripping a hole in America's blockade of the new nation. On the ocean, a single ship steamed forward, steadily making its way to England. "Hey, cap, how long till we hit England?" The gray-suited nation looked up at the diplomat standing beside him, bored out of his skull staring across the sea. Though he had only known life as a true country for a few months, the Confederacy already had the body of a teenager.

"To tell the truth, I don't know." James Mason spoke softly in reply. In the last few months, it seemed the Europeans had begun to take sides in this conflict. The Russians had declared open support for the Union, with Italy and Germany following suit. On the other hand, England and France had begun supporting the new southern Confederacy, running the blockades with shipments of guns and other supplies. He knew there was a marked difference between a few shipments of guns and powder and open diplomatic support, though. What he didn't know was whether the gulf between the two could be bridged. The diplomat's train of thought was derailed, though, as he spotted something on the horizon. "Say," he asked the teen beside him, pointing over at the slowly-growing speck on the sea, "what do you think that is over yonder?"

"Hmm..." the Confederacy squinted, trying to make out the shape. It was flying a Union flag, and standing at the stern was a most familiar face. "That there's my brother!"

A disquieted murmur came over those aboard the ship as the USS San Jacinto closed in, ready to seize the Trent's diplomatic cargo.

...

While Union seamen seized Mason and Slidell from the ship, a blur of blue and gray clashed in a fistfight on deck. America, or the Union as some were calling him now, delivered a series of brutal blows to his brother's gut. This was met by a nimble throw from the Confederacy, slamming the blue-clad nation into the deck. "Gotcha now, Alfie!" As he raised a fist to slam into the Union's face, though, the older nation rolled to the side before delivering his own strike.

Back on his feet like lightning, he grabbed hold of the Confederacy by the throat, lifting him off the ground before slamming him into the nearby wall, knocking him unconscious. "Not so fast, Johnny. You're coming with me." Scooping up the boy in his arms, America carried him back onto the USS San Jacinto. A strange mix of emotion revealed itself on his face as he looked down at his brother; though he knew that he couldn't let the first shots of the war back at Fort Sumter go unanswered, it still pained him to be exercising such brutality against people he still considered to be his - even though they claimed otherwise.

...

Several months later, the Union was now facing two extremely irritated nations, both on the verge of declaring war on him. "Are you daft, Alfred?" England glared daggers at his younger brother. "What makes you think you can just sail around, stealing people from my boats like that?"

America shook his head. "They were illegal cargo. There was no way I could just let them sail away!"

"People aren't cargo, you wanker. They're people!"

"Now now, Angleterre," France interjected, trying to calm his fellow European. "Alfred is still new to nationhood. He hasn't even been independent for a century yet." A devious look formed on France's face. "Obviously, we have to teach him a lesson in manners."

"So what if I haven't been independent for that long," America replied. "I still kicked your ass to earn it, Arthur!"

England began to look sullen. "Please, don't start..." came his depressed reply.

"And don't forget 1812!" America took no heed of England's wishes, continuing. "I bet little Mattie's still reeling from that one, huh!"

Melancholy quickly shifted to rage, as England slammed a fist into the desk. "Alright, that's it!" A vein throbbed on England's forehead. "Fuck you, fuck your country and fuck your naval blockade!" Rising to his feet with a single violent motion, England stormed out the door. "If you see your new brother sailing about with top-of-the-line British vessels," he added as he left, "you'll know where he got them!"

As the door slammed, France and the Union looked at eachother in stunned silence, neither sure quite what to do. France, seemingly emboldened by England's outburst, broke the silence. "In that case, Alfred," he said, his eyes shifting to a pile slumped in the corner of the room, "I think I might just recognise your new brother."

The pile in the corner shifted about slightly, chains chiming as they knocked together. The Union looked back in dread.

"You hear that, Johnny?" France began to shout directly at the heap. "I recognise you!"

Suddenly, the sound of chains and restraints snapping filled the room. The heap reared up, shaking off scraps of metal to reveal itself as the embodiment of the Confederacy. "Yeehaw!" The young man in gray bounded towards the doorway, France's diplomatic recognition filling him with newfound strength and energy. "Thank you kindly, Francis," he said, tipping his hat to the blond Frenchman. "And see y'all on the battlefield, Alfred!"

...

Years passed, and the war seemed to be going nowhere. The Confederacy had yet to really secure its independence against the Union, yet a truly decisive blow had yet to be struck. France and the Confederacy, leading several platoons of soldiers through thick Virginia woodland, were just about to begin a surprise attack on an American garrison. Yet, the younger of the two nations couldn't help but feel uneasy. "Francis," the Confederacy noted, "I got a real bad feeling about this..."

France patted the Confederacy on the shoulder, attempting to reassure him. "It will be fine, Johnny. Luck is on our side. They will never see us coming!"

...

No less than an hour later, France was eating his words as rapidly as he was helping dig a defensive trench, their position being raked by Gatling gun fire. "I done told you so, Francis," the Confederacy grumbled as he dug. "But how in the world did they know we were coming through the woods?" Looking up as he sighed, the Confederate found his answer. "What's that there?"

"Looks like a balloon," France replied, raising his rifle. "I'll try and take a shot at it."

...

Meanwhile, hundreds of meters in the air above, Germany looked over the edge of a balloon's basket. "Looks like they have begun to set up defensive lines... You taking this down, Gilbert?"

Prussia, however, was far too carried away in looking around to be bothered with paying attention or taking notes. "Holy shit, West, check it out," he called excitedly. "We're flying! This is beyond awesome! I have GOT to make one of these when we get back home."

Germany facepalmed deeply. "Yes, Gilbert, we're flying. We have been for about an hour, now... But pay attention!" Germany looked down again at the ground where France and the Confederacy had holed up. "Wait... is that France down there?" His eyes widened in shock as he noticed the brightly-clothed nation point his rifle at their craft. "Gilbert! Get down!"

The next sound Germany heard was a stifled scream of pain as a Minie ball found his brother's leg.

...

A few more months passed. The tide had begun to turn against the Confederacy, yet the continued assistance from France and Britain still made final victory for the Union elusive. Nevertheless, America and his new European friends still felt safe enough to relax, if only for a little while. They had decided to join the Union President, Abraham Lincoln, at a local theatre to see a performance of Our American Cousin. Nothing seemed out of place for the first hour or so. The performance was decent, the nations chatted quietly between themselves between scenes, and even Lincoln himself, stressed from his heavy workload in fighting a civil war, was starting to enjoy himself.

"Hahaha!" Italy laughed loudly at the scene with cousin Asa, slapping Germany on the back. The stern Aryan gave Italy a shy, subtle smile in response. He had to admit, it was quite the scene.

At that moment, though, Germany heard the noise of a struggle coming from above, where Lincoln and his wife were seated. America and Prussia noticed, too, and the three began to move in on the presidential box. "Dammit," muttered the Union. "The one day I get to relax..." Though Germany and the Union moved swiftly, Prussia lagged behind, his leg injury forcing him to limp along with his walking cane.

By the time the two blond nations had reached the box, it was too late. The President had disappeared, Henry Rathborne lay unconscious, the First Lady and Miss Harris were in shock, and the only clue was a letter on the ground. As America read through the letter and Germany tended to Rathborne and the two women, Prussia finally caught up, reaching the presidential box. "What happened? Where's the President?"

Angrily, America crushed the letter, throwing it at the ground. "They... my brother kidnapped him. He's trying to force my hand... The bastard!"

"The President has been kidnapped..." Prussia smirked slightly, shooting the Union a challenging look. "Ask yourself this then, Alfred - are you awesome enough to rescue the President?"

...

Additional notes: Russia and Prussia actually did support the Union in the real world, and England did run blockades to supply the Confederates. In fact, Ferdinand von Zeppelin, inventor of the Zeppelin rigid airship, had his first ballooning experience as a recon observer attached to the Northern Potomac Army. However, in this world, differences in European history have changed the perceptions and attitudes of the European powers, making them a bit more proactive and aggressive in their dealings with the American Civil War.

All the details of the Ford's Theatre at the time of the kidnapping in this story are the same as what they were in real life at the moment of the assassination of Abraham Lincoln. For instance, John Wilkes Booth actually timed his gunshot so that it would be masked by the laughter at a particular scene in the play. Masking an attempted kidnapping with the same laughter isn't so far-fetched an idea.

Originally, in the real world, the intention was for Lincoln to be kidnapped and for the Confederates to use him as a bargaining chip. However, since the Civil War was essentially over by that point, the plan changed to assassination rather than hostage-taking. Since the Civil War is being dragged out here because of increased interference from France and England on the Confederate side, though, I decided that the kidnapping plot would likely remain in place instead.

Also, when I found out that the original plot was for a kidnapping rather than an assassination, I felt obliged to make a Bad Dudes reference. I apologise for that.

Finally, sorry about the delay. I don't really set myself any sort of schedule when it comes to updates on my stories.


	15. Chapter 15

Part two of the Civil War saga. Sorry about the delay again.

...

CHAPTER 15

...

America breathed heavily as he waited, leaning against the wall of a rather nondescript cabin in rural Virginia. Two men - lookouts - lay dead at his feet; those inside would be caught completely off-guard.

It was April, 1865, and only two things were certain in the young nation's mind - that his boss, recently kidnapped, was inside this very building, and that it was his duty to get him out unharmed.

Finally, the man took in a sharp breath of air, psyching himself up. "Here we go," the Union whispered to himself, clasping his Henry rifle closely. In one swift motion, America nailed the door with a solid kick, sending the mass of timber flying across the room inside, crushing those behind it. Quickly, the nation moved in, taking aim with his repeater. He scanned the room quickly, the adrenalin rushing through his veins bringing his perception of events to a near standstill._ "Thirteen targets,"_ the Union thought to himself, settling his gun's irons on the first kidnapper he saw. _"At this rate, I'll be shooting all week."_

"What in tarna-" was all one of the Confederates could blurt out before a .44-caliber bullet found itself in his skull. The soldier dropped to the ground, blood pooling around him as his colleagues ran about, finding their weapons or taking cover.

In a split second, America forced the lever foward and back again, sending the hot brass shell spinning through the air as he lined up his next shot. _"Aim."_ His sights rested on his next target. "Fire." He squeezed the trigger, sending his second bullet on its deadly mission. _"Eject."_ The Union forced the lever forward again, sending another shell popping out of the action. _"Chamber." _Just as quickly, he brought the lever back, putting his next round in place. _"Aim." _He lined up a third target, his finger resting on the trigger. _Fire..."_ As each kidnapper fell in turn, America's train of thought became more robotic and automated. It was easier for him to think of each of these people as just targets, rather than men who he still considered his own.

...

Meanwhile, in a field hospital in West Virginia, Prussia and Austria were paying a visit to their soldiers, wounded in combat in support of the Union. Austria walked over to the bedside of one of his soldiers, asleep but obviously in great pain. He sighed. "You know, Gilbert, if it weren't for those revolutions twenty years ago, who knows - the men in this room could very well have been killing each-other right now, rather than fighting side-by-side."

"Either way, Roderich, we'd still be fighting. It's in our blood." He shot his brother a menacing grin. "Or my blood, at least." Prussia was soon distracted, though, by the sight of one of his own troops. The man had just awoken, it seemed, though he appeared not to be in significant pain. He quickly hobbled over, still getting used to his walking cane. "You. Soldier. What's your name?"

The man looked up from his bed. "Ferdinand Graf von Zeppelin, sir." He forced himself into a sitting position before continuing. "An aeronaut with the joint German-American force in Virginia." He patted down on his bedspread where his left leg should have been, revealing nothing there. The man had a look of melancholy as he added, "Or, at least, I was."

"That's... Whoa." Prussia was familiar with the toll of war, but this still shocked him a bit. "Wait, what's this?" Prussia's red eyes had wandered to the bedside table, where a small pile of sketches lay. They were diagrams and scrawlings, depicting a strange-looking balloon-like vehicle.

"Oh, that's nothing." Ferdinand took the pictures away from Prussia, folding them back up. "Just an idea I had for a guidable balloon. Rigid metal frame, hundreds of metres long, capable of ferrying dozens of men across an ocean or continent..." He shook his head in self-doubt. "I know it's just a whimsical dream, but-"

"But nothing!" Prussia had stolen the pictures again, poring over them. Everything seemed workable, and he was already starting to come up with dozens of ideas for military applications. "This is, quite possibly, the most awesome thing ever." Handing the papers back, Prussia stood up, ready to move on to attending another of his fallen soldiers. "Keep hold of those, now. That's a real million-goldmark idea you have there."

...

Back in Virginia, America had fired his final shot. Not one of the Confederates remained standing as the Union crossed the room, finding Lincoln gagged and bound to a chair. "Mr Lincoln!" Dropping his repeater, the nation rushed to the captive, removing his gag and starting work on his ropes. "Are you all right?"

Getting up slowly, the president nodded. "Yes, Alfred. Thank you." He looked around at the carnage that America had left in his wake. "Strange..."

"What is it, sir?" The Union looked at his boss quizzically, wondering what was wrong.

"I could have sworn that your brother was here... He was with the kidnappers at the theatre, at least."

America scratched his chin. "Hmm... Maybe he left to fight on the front lines or something..."

"Perhaps, Mr Jones..." Treading carefully around the aftermath in the room, Abraham followed his nation out the building, back to where he had come from. "Perhaps."

...

America was right, in a way. For, at the same time as Lincoln's rescue, his brother the South had just run head-first into a massive naval clash off Louisiana. Standing alongside England upon the deck of a truly massive ironclad ship, they watched as their vessel, the CSS Montgomery, traded fire with the vessels from the Union, German, Italian and Russian Navies in an attempt to retake the Forts of Jackson and St. Philip. Looking on as a shell from the Montgomery's turret flew towards its target, the Confederacy began punching the air as he saw it slam into the hull of the Affondatore, igniting the other ship's magazine. "Yes!" The Italian vessel split in two as the explosion tore it apart from within.

England, however, only shook his head. "You know you're not going to win here today, right Jonathan?"

Irritated, the Confederacy pursed his lips before giving England a dirty look. "What do you mean, Artie?" He pointed dramatically at the still-sinking wreckage of the Affondatore, triumphant. "This vessel of yours is slicing through those guys like butter! It's the best ship in the world!"

"That was a lucky shot, Jon. All ships have their magazines as a weak spot, and even a light round can result in massive damage if you manage to land it there. And," he added, "it doesn't matter how good this ship is. We're still up against other ironclads from four different nations, and those bastards have us outnumbered two-to-one." He turned his gaze to the South, serious. "We need to retreat and wait for reinforcements from Britain."

"And while we're waiting, my armies along the Mississippi north of here are going to get slaughtered!" He scratched his chin briefly, thinking. "Unless..."

"For the last time, no. I am not going to launch a land campaign against the Union from Canada. That is final."

"Why not? France's been giving me land support for four years now! Why don't you lend a hand?"

"France is an idiot. And your cotton isn't nearly valuable enough to me to risk losing Mattie to Alfred's clutches again." England's thoughts drifted back to the 1812 war, how America had launched an invasion across the border, brutally attacking his brother Canada. How he and Canada struck back, sailing into Washington, D.C. before setting America's heart ablaze... The idea of reliving this all, of once again launching an all-out land war against his former colony, was a bit too much.

Upon hearing England's thoughts, the Confederacy looked back at him, both surprised and depressed. "Do... do you really think I might lose this war?"

"To be honest, Jon," the nation coolly replied, "it's looking more likely with every passing day."

...

Italy stood at the bridge of the Affondatore, watching the action of this naval battle unfold. His ship had just sunk one of the British corvettes escorting the Confederate force, and was idly waiting as the ship's crew reloaded the main turret. Suddenly, he saw a flash from one of the massive turret-battleships the Confederate-British force had brought. The next thing Italy felt was the force of a shell hitting the hull, followed almost immediately by a massive explosion. The force of the detonation sent the young nation flying through the air, his body headed towards the SMS Saxony. A cry of "Gerrrmanyyy!" was all he could manage before slamming into the other nation on the ship's deck full-force.

Still in shock from seeing Italy's ship blown to pieces, Germany hardly noticed the sound of Italian-accented screaming before he found himself brought to the ground. "Ach du lieber..." Rubbing his head, the nation entered a state of shock as two big hazel eyes stared into him, a mere three inches from his face.

"Oh, it was so scary, Ludwig! First, I was just telling my crew to fire a few rounds, but then they started firing back, and..." Italy began to recount his last few moments, becoming more emotionally unstable as he spoke. "And then you caught me, Germany. Thank you for saving me!" The brown-haired nation pulled his head back a bit, looking at the situation Germany's 'catch' had landed him in. "Um... Are you okay?"

Without speaking a word, Germany suddenly reached out without warning, gripping Italy's body in a tight hug. _"You're alive..."_ Snapping out of this emotional moment, Germany quickly ascended to his feet, bringing Italy with him. Letting his ally regain his footing, Germany ran off to the side of the ship's deck, grabbing the attention of a flag signaller. "You there!"

The signaller stood rigidly at attention. "Jawohl?"

Germany spoke calmly, trying to mask the incredible rage he now felt. "New orders: Tell all other vessels - Russian, German, Italian and Union - Concentrate fire on that Confederate flagship. I do not want to see that vessel afloat five minutes from now. Understood?"

The man merely nodded as the blond nation turned back, facing Italy. "Germany...?" The younger nation became increasingly worried as he saw Germany's tranquil fury build.

Staring out at the other Confederate ships assembled, Germany narrowed his eyes, listening as the new barrage against the Montgomery began. It seemed that the Russian vessels were taking the lead, though the other ships there were quick to follow. As all this unfolded, a single thought crossed through Germany's mind. _"No-one touches my ally and gets away with it."_

...

Though the Union and his allies eventually won that fight, it was another 18 months before the final surrender of the Confederacy. It was October, 1866, and the Union and Confederacy faced one another in Washington, D.C., each nation flanked by their respective boss. As Lincoln and Davis signed the armistice agreement, the two national brothers shook hands. "You know, Alfie," the Confederacy muttered as he and his brother shook, "I will rise again. Mark my words..."

America managed a light smirk. "You keep telling yourself that, brother," he whispered back, disparagingly.

...

A few months later, early in 1867, two giant men in heavy winter clothing stood outside the White House. One of the two delivered a solid knock on the door, before calling out to its occupants. "Alfred! It is Ivan!" He knocked again. "You remember me, da?"

A few moments passed, and no answer. "Perhaps he is not here, Ivan."

Russia turned to his companion, giving him one of his typical eerily calm smiles."He is, my little Alyaska," he replied. "I am sure of it."

...

Additional notes: The Henry rifle was one of the most widespread repeaters of the Civil War. Used almost exclusively by the Union, those units equipped with it had a massive advantage over their Confederate counterparts, who were equipped mainly with single-shot firearms. In the words of some Confederates, it was that "Yankee rifle that you could load on Sunday and shoot all week!"

When Austria muses about the idea of him and Prussia fighting eachother, he is in fact hinting towards the German Civil War (also known as the Austro-Prussian War) in 1866 - a war which, due to the successful revolutions of 1848 in this universe, will now never happen.

Airships are easily one of the most awesome things on the planet. Combined with Prussia's love for all things of the awe-inspiring variety, I think we can all see why he's taken this particular attitude towards Ferdinand Graf von Zeppelin's idea here. Speaking of which, it seems von Zeppelin will be forced into early retirement from the military. How will this influence the development of the rigid airship, I wonder? Hmm...

The Affondatore was a real ship, though in the real world it wasn't completed until 1866. Here, since Italy united earlier, it could be said that Italy were able to design, construct and launch the ship earlier. The other ships mentioned are fictional, however. There was never a CSS Montgomery, for instance - though, I did mention earlier that Britain would be building much more advanced warships for the Confederacy than in real life...

The gunpowder magazine is indeed a classic weak point for many naval vessels. Even as late as in WWII, with the sinking of the HMS Hood, the destruction of many vessels has been attributed to the detonation of the ship's gunpowder stores.

"The South will rise again" is a catchphrase for those in the Southern United States who believe in the resurgence of Confederate sovereignty. Very few people outside the Southern United States take the idea seriously, though.

In the real world, Alaska, up until 1867, was a Russian territory. After the US Civil War, the Russians sold it off to the United States. Also, if my translator isn't broken, the word is phoenetically spelt as "Alyaska" in the Russian language.

I'd like to say sorry again about the delay. I'd like to be a bit more regular, but sometimes things get a bit busy for me. I still remain determined to follow this timeline through to at least 1920, however.


	16. Chapter 16

And now back to your regularly scheduled European politics. Now with 90% more Russia!

...

CHAPTER 16

...

"Hmm, I dunno about that idea of yours, Ivan," America noted, walking and talking with his two visitors, "but in any case, we should probably run this by my boss first." Leading Russia and Alyaska through the halls of the White House, he stopped at a door near the southeast corner of the building. "Him and his Cabinet should be just about finished with their meeting. I'll check."

With that, America gave a solid set of knocks on the door. A muffled voice of, "Come in, Mr Jones," echoed from within. Needing no further invitation, the nation obliged, opening the door and leading the pair of guests inside.

Crossing the threshold, Russia and Alyaska had entered the Cabinet's meeting room, on the second floor of the White House. The two noticed the huge number of maps covering the walls - most seemed to deal with battle strategy or other aspects of the recently-ended Civil War. Between the maps, they could make out flecks of dark green wallpaper, matching the carpet. Newspapers and mail from around the country matted the room's desk and tables. Looking up from a letter on his desk, Lincoln eyed the three nations briefly. "Have a seat, Mr Braginski. You too, Jones." The other Cabinet members were somewhat mystifyed as to who these individuals were - except for William Seward, the Secretary of State, who looked like he just wanted to know what Russia and his North American colony were doing here.

The platinum-blond giant nodded before obliging. "Da. Thank you." The three took their seats towards the back of the room, observing as the politicians began to wrap things up. "Excuse me," Russia asked, his voice quiet yet intense. "Before you conclude your meeting, there is something I wanted to discuss with you."

"First things first..." replied one of the other Cabinet members, "...who are you?"

"I?" Russia tilted his head slightly, pointing to himself. "I am... Russia."

...

Prussia, Austria and Germany were gathered together in a small room, all three sitting at a table. A large map of the world was spread out, with a variety of markings, footnotes and outlines scribbled in. Germany held a quill in his hand, adding to the already-crowded mess. "So, here's the plan." He drew a circle around several patches of land in southern and western Africa. "Unclaimed African territory. Plentiful raw materials, an easily subjugated native population, and a key to German international prestige."

"Ludwig does have a point. We need to be able to compete with Britain and France if we're to survive as a real power." Austria scratched his chin before taking the pen from Germany, circling portions of French, British and Portuguese territory before dipping the tool in a pot of ink. "Arthur was telling me about his so-called 'Cape to Cairo' concept a few months back - a plan for Britain to cut across the entire length of the continent..." Austria drew a line as he spoke, passing through all the African patches along the west coast, linking a path from the northern frontier of British South Africa through to the western Mediterranean. "We could do something similar. Link all of the western coast."

Noting the line's path through already-claimed territory, Prussia shook his head. "Africa? Pfft. That place isn't nearly awesome enough to warrant our attention!" Austria and Germany looked at each-other briefly before looking back to their brother. Without warning, Prussia took the quill for himself. "Want to see _my_ map of Africa?" The white-haired nation proceeded to draw a massive ring around Europe. "These two," he noted whilst pointing, "are France, our long-time enemy, and Britain. And this," he continued, pointing further south, "is Italy, our awesome ally." Germany cleared his throat before allowing his brother to continue, Prussia giving him a suspicious look. "And this, over here in the east, is the totally awesome and hot Hungary," Prussia added, pausing for a moment. Austria shrunk down in his chair, becoming slightly depressed as he remembered what had happened between Hungary and himself two decades ago. "Not to mention our other ally, Russia. Now tell me, brothers..." An almost evil-looking smirk flashed on Prussia's face as he spoke, "Why worry about Africa when Europe is already awesome enough as is?"

...

"Seven million dollars?" America was taken aback at the price offered by his guest. "For that polar bear garden of yours?"

Alyaska frowned at the remark, whilst a faint "_kolkolkol_" seemed to be echoing from Russia's lips.

Lincoln nodded in agreement with his nation. "I can see how Alaska could be useful, but seven million is perhaps too expensive..." The president looked the Russian nation in the eyes as he spoke. "You must remember, we have only just concluded a civil war. Capital is at a premium."

"Da! Of course I remember that!" Russia's tone had shifted to an indignant one, his face red and flushed. "I was fighting right alongside your nation!"

America sighed, nodding. "Yeah, I remember... And I really do appreciate that. And I know you need this money... But I just cannot afford this right now. I'm sorry..."

Russia's face returned to its normal hue, his voice returning to its standard eerie calm. "Five million."

...

A few months after America had adopted his youngest brother (albeit for much less than what he had hoped), Russia sat alone in his room. He was counting his wealth, and comparing it to some expenditure estimates prepared by a few of his government's bureaucrats. "No... Still not enough..."

As he continued to review his finances, his sister Ukraine entered the room. "Dear Ivan? Oh..." She backed off slightly, uncertain. "I'm sorry. I'm interrupting, aren't I? I'll g-"

"Nyet." Russia gestured towards his older sister. "Please."

Obliging, Ukraine took a seat on her brother's bed, looking over the massive nation's work. "Ivan? May I ask something?"

Looking up from his work for a moment, Russia nodded. "Da?"

"All this money... What do you need it for? I mean, it's not something you usually worry about..."

Russia put down his quill and rose from his chair, sitting at his sister's side. "It's just... Our allies. They started to make me think recently."

"Think about what, brother?" Usually, Ukraine was averse to Russia's normal lines of thinking. They usually entailed new ways of messing with France and Britain, or plans to beat up Turkey. In any case, her vast plains were usually the first place the enemy thought of violating when they and Russia got in a fight... Sure, her brother would always come to help her, but it was always a worry.

"Democracy." Ukraine was taken aback slightly. It wasn't like her brother to want something like democracy, or parliaments, or voting... He was a natural-born autocrat. Then again, he was acting a lot nicer recently. First the liberation of the serfs, then the effort to help out America, now this... What was he up to? "All my allies... Ludwig. Feliciano. Alfred... They're all democracies. And yet... they're all so strong." Russia looked down at his feet, sullen. "But I can't turn into a democracy overnight. It's a massive reform, with massive costs... Plus," he added, "We need more infrastructure. I was thinking of putting in a big railway network. Something to link all the empire together." He turned to his sister, smiling. "So that we can all be one with Russia! What do you think?"

...

Another year passed. Russia had continued to save up money, but was still short on funds. If he really wanted to reform his nation, he knew there was only one way to do it. It was the summer of 1868 now, and Russia, in a scene reminiscent of one the year before, waited at the entrance to the Frankfurt Parliament with another of his far-eastern territories, Kamchatka. "But brother!" Kamchatka cried out, worriedly. "I don't want to leave you! I like it at your house."

"Calm down, little one. You will like it with Ludwig. I am sure he will treat you well." Russia looked down at his territory, smiling softly. "And you will be helping all your brothers and sisters, too. You want to help your family, yes...?" Russia's voice took on a creepy undertone as he mentioned this, scaring Kamchatka slightly. Aloof to the worry he was causing, the scarfed nation turned to watch as German parliamentarians began to leave the Parliament before them. After a few minutes, he spotted a familiar face.

"Ivan?" Germany turned, catching Russia's face in the crowd. "What are you doing here? And who's this?"

Kamchatka hid behind Russia as Germany approached, though the larger nation greeted his ally warmly. "I have a proposal for you, Ludwig. How do you feel about... colonies?"

...

Additional notes: The American public was divided on the issue of Alaska in the real world. Some wanted to see America expand, while others saw the purchase as too much money for nothing but a frozen wasteland - the purchase was even dubbed "Seward's Icebox" or "Johnson's Polar Bear Garden" by some. One could imagine that, given the woes caused by an extended civil war, these arguments would have even greater traction - hence, why the Alaska territory went for even less money here than in the real world.

when Germany became a united country in our world, nationalist sentiment called for the establishment of a colonial empire. The Prussian elite like Bismarck, however, noted that African colonial expansion should not have taken priority over managing relations with Germany's neighbours - in one debate, Bismarck even called a map of Europe his "Map of Africa". Here, I have Germany and Austria representing the nationalist sentiment, with Prussia reflecting Bismarck's view (albeit in his very special way).

In the real world, the Russian government (under tsar Alexander II) began work on railways in Siberia and had planned to create a Russian parliament, or "Duma" (the plans for the Duma were scrapped following the tsar's assassination, though). In this story, Russia's alliances with the now-democratic Germany and Italy have motivated him into a rethink, resulting in these reforms and projects being brought forward by over a decade.

Of course, Russia never sold off the Kamchatka Peninsula in the real world - Alaska provided enough money. However, the territory was mainly used as a stopover point between Russia proper and Russian America. With Alaska now in America's hands, Russia probably doesn't have much use for the territory, and - if the money was truly needed - would probably be willing to sell it off.


End file.
